


truths too deep

by Mertiya



Category: Ginga Eiyuu Densetsu | Legend of the Galactic Heroes
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, Alternate Universe - World War I, Christmas Fluff, Enemies to Friends, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-09
Updated: 2019-07-09
Packaged: 2020-06-25 01:03:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,107
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19735228
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mertiya/pseuds/Mertiya
Summary: Two junior officers from opposing sides meet during the Christmas Truce of 1914.





	truths too deep

_Then, when much blood had clogged their chariot-wheels,_

_I would go up and wash them from sweet wells,_

_Even with truths that lie too deep for taint_

—Wilfred Owen, “Strange Meeting”

Beneath the glittering diamond stars in a black sky, the powdered snow lay churned with mud and blood. Second Lieutenant Yang Wen-Li watched the swirling patterns that his breath left in the clear night air, hands stuffed firmly in his pockets for warmth. Sometimes he thought the biting cold of the north since he’d arrived from Hong Kong was worse than any of the rest of it; most days, there were other problems at the top of his list. Sighing, he shifted from foot to foot, wondering if the man he was waiting for would appear at all.

The sound of a song rose, sudden, clear, and beautiful, and he looked, startled, back towards the British encampment, then turned his head again, as the same tune began to rise from the opposite side of the trench. Snow crunched, and, his form dim in the darkness, his blond hair faintly luminous in the starlight, Reinhard von Lohengramm appeared across from him.

“No table tonight, I see?” he said in accented English, and Yang shook his head regretfully.

“I’d just lose as usual anyway,” he said with a smile. “You know I’m terrible at chess.”

“Which is precisely the problem.” Reinhard matched smile with smile, and something about that self-confident bearing mixed with the way his eyes crinkled at the edges caused a strange thrill to run through Yang. “It’s the only thing I can win at these days.”

Yang tipped his head back and studied the stars. “I suppose it’s the only thing I can lose at, too, in a way.” He held up a hand. “I wonder if this is what Limbo would be like?”

“Someday, I’ll make them pay for this,” Reinhard snarled, the softness of his voice wiped away. When he was like this, Yang thought, he was like an avenging spirit, golden-haired and golden-voiced, far away from the touch or friendship of a mere mortal. “I’ll tear down all those self-satisfied nobles, and I’ll make them understand what they put us through.”

_I just hope I live long enough to see next week_ , Yang thought morosely, although the constant state of stalemate was wearing him down as well. If they lost, maybe they could go home. If they won, maybe they could go home. Either way was fine with him, if he was alive to see it.

“I brought you something,” Reinhard told him abruptly. “For Christmas. Here.” He shoved a small rectangle wrapped in a twist of brown paper at Yang, who took it rather bemusedly.

The two junior officers had become friends entirely accidentally, both of them happening to take shelter from a particularly bad shelling in the same location. Without the use of their ear drums and with their uniforms both uniformly mud-colored, neither of them realized they were on opposing sides for hours, and after that, well, what could you do? They both thought the whole thing was a stupid mess, anyway. Yang had regretted his decision to join the British military before he’d even set foot in France, while he was still reading dispatches about the state of affairs and realizing the appalling level of stupidity and incompetence that was being displayed.

One thing that was quite useful, as it turned out, was that when the higher-ranked officers weren’t paying attention, you could actually stage battles that looked very dramatic and didn’t actually end up causing significant casualties. Yang was getting really very good at figuring out the situation geared to cause the minimum of injury to the group of soldiers posted across the trenches. He wasn’t even being disloyal; _trying_ to fight certainly lead to more people being killed on both sides but wasn’t likely to fundamentally lead to any kind of overall shift in the tactical situation anyway, so he felt that preserving the life of as many British soldiers as possible was the obvious and patriotic action to perform in the absence of literally any other way to change the course of the overall conflict. Reinhard felt the same way.

He unwrapped the little parcel with some interest and found himself looking at an English translation of _The Art of War_.

“I know you’ve probably got the original somewhere,” Reinhard said offhandedly. “But it’s all I could find. I had to steal it, of course, I didn’t have anything lying around that I thought you’d like. But who’s going to know?”

“Thank you.” Yang turned the book over and over again in his hands. It was old and worn and well-read; there was a tell-tale rusty blotch across the pages. It had probably belonged to someone who’d died, then. Well, so did most old things, when you thought about it. He looked up at Reinhard again, just in time to catch a slight hint of hesitation, instantly clamped down on. “I’m afraid I don’t have anything to give you.”

Reinhard’s eyes flickered—downwards? “There’s something you could give me,” he said, haltingly. “But I don’t know if you would want to.”

“Tell me,” Yang smiled. “Anything you want.”

“ _Anything_?” The hesitance was gone, replaced by Reinhard’s usual smirk, and he stepped forward suddenly and slid a hand around Yang’s waist, tightening it almost possessively. Yang tipped his head to one side in surprise at the unusual contact, surprised but not particularly perturbed.

“I—suppose so. Why not?”

Reinhard licked his lips, and then he slid a hand down beneath Yang’s chin and tipped it up. “A kiss?”

_A kiss?_ The breath froze in Yang’s lungs for an instant, and then he realized that this was the safest place possible for such an indiscretion, this no man’s land where all the secrets soaked into the earth with the blood. If he’d tried, he couldn’t have come up with something safer, and Reinhard must have realized the same thing. Something warm swelled in his chest, and he found himself glancing shyly downward before nodding.

“Good.” Reinhard cupped both hands about his face, rubbing the thumbs gently across his cheekbones, and stooped a little, bringing their lips together. He tasted of smoke and safety, and Yang shut his eyes. Little pinpricks of cold landed on his eyelids and forehead as it began to snow, but his lips beneath Reinhard’s were warm.

Just a few snatched moments of peace and love as the weary soldiers laid down their weapons for the Christmas Truce, but it was a few moments that would echo down history and be remembered centuries later.

**Author's Note:**

> https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Live_and_let_live_(World_War_I)


End file.
